If only for a night
by Pancake Pet
Summary: A series of questionably entertaining vignettes featuring ErikxRaoul. Ratings vary per chapter, so watch out!


**Author:** Pancake Pet and CockneyWindBaguette.  
><strong>Pairing(s)<strong>: Erik\Raoul  
><strong>Summary:<strong> When Erik plays the violin, it's not meant for human ears... it's that bad. Raoul learns this the hard way.  
><strong>Rating: NC-17MA**  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Gaston Leroux and various publishers. As per usual―no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Title stolen from Florence + The Machine's song of the same name―which, I don't claim to own, either.  
><strong>Warning(s):<strong> Nothing much, for this chapter. Just a little oral, and it's at the end.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,000+  
><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> _Bonjour et bienvenue, to the first vignette of many from a fabulous RP between myself and my friend, Bridgette (CockneyBaguette). We hope you can tolerate our tomfoolery and, perhaps, have as much fun reading it, as we did writing it. It's going to be hard, though… we kind of went crazy, and threw every PoTO!Verse out the window... also, I think a little too OOC—if our pissy Vampire!Erik, and a persuasive, not-blushing-and-shy-bottom!Raoul are anything to go by. :3 _

_Anywho~ I'm gonna cut this short, 'cause I have to go translate the rest of my favorite parts from French to English, toodles! ;D_

_Thanks an advance to those who take the time to read this; review it; or favorite it._

_~Pan and WindBag._

* * *

><p>As the horsehair bow slid across the taut silver strings of Raoul's Stradivarius in painfully slow and calculated way, the tortured violin let out a wavering, cacophonous cry which sounded like that of a wail from a distressed toddler.<p>

The sound echoed throughout the bedroom, and resounded noisily along the walls. Raoul was thankful that the maids had long since retired to their quarters, or else they would've had to suffer the horrid sounds Erik was drawing from the Vicomte's beloved violin.

For being an angel of music, the vampire was (for the lack of a better word) an atrocious violin-player, and made for an abysmal pupil; given his arrogance, quick-temper, and inability to take criticism—positive or otherwise.

Fixing a polite his face, Raoul tried not to flinch at the wounded warbling flitting from his prized instrument. He is learning, Raoul… he wouldn't possibly be this horrible, if he could help it. The blonde balled his hand into a tight fist to fight the almost overwhelming urge to rescue his prized instrument from Erik, when the clearly aggravated vampire dragged the bow along the strings in a way that made the violin screech bloody murder.

While Raoul could reel himself in, every time Erik elicited a wretched noise; the Phantom seemed to lose hold on his control each time he faltered—the most recent cry being the chaff that broke the notorious camel's back.

With an angry growl, Erik threw the Stradivarius and it's bow onto the floor. The items it the floor with a echoing thud, but the immortal ignored it, as he stood up abruptly from the wooden stool that sat before Raoul's mirror, and began pacing the length of his lover's spacious room. Erik's eyes long since bled from black to a frightening shade of vermillion—a common attribute of Nosferatian sorts—and he seemed just a moment away from baring his fangs and going stark-raving mad.

Barking obscenities and generally speaking ill of Raoul and his violin, the phantom trotted around the room furiously for a few more moments, before sitting back down on his original seat huffily.

As Erik sulked and glowered, The Vicomte retrieved his maltreated instrument from the floor, and looked upon his paramour with blazing blue eyes. If they were still within the blossoming beginning of their courtship; Raoul would have been foolish enough to voice his negative opinions, even if it meant getting backhanded. Before then—when they were still enemies—the blonde would have been foolish enough to strike the vampire for brutalizing his Stradivarius… even if it meant having his arm (or whatever limb Erik managed to grasp in his vice-like grip) broken for his actions.

Having experienced Erik's brutality far too many times, Raoul settled for shooting a heated glare at Erik, from the reasonably safe distance his stood at, before turning his attention to his violin to assess the damage. Miraculously, there was naught a scratch or scuff on it. The vampire ought to have been counting his lucky stars, right about then; because, if his brash actions had injured Raoul's Stradivarius, the blonde would've had half a mind to snuff him out when he slept… or, worse; he could have withheld intimacy, like he always did, when he was mad at Erik. The Opera Ghost hated that more than the possibility of death.

No longer murderous—but, still peeved at Erik for having his little outburst—Raoul, held his violin gently to his chest, before softening his gaze and speaking to his vexed lover, "Are you done? Or must a put away the rest of my valuables, lest you try to break those, as well?

Erik growled, turning his nose up at the violin that his lover had cradled so lovingly in his arms. He appreciated neither Raoul's jesting nor the Stradivarius, at yet, his young lover kept persisting with both. "Get that toy away from me; or I shall do my best to tear at it, until it's nothing more than a memory." The vampire threatened through gritted teeth, glaring with those flaming-red eyes of his.

Raoul rolled his crystal blue eyes, before shifting his stance. Supposing the task of getting Erik to come back out of his angry husk was going to take all night, the blonde decided to change tactics. "Ma Chérie, you wouldn't dare do something as cruel as that…" Trailing off, the Vicomte absentmindedly stroked the neck of his violin. The way his hand moved so skillfully up and down in a rhythm had Erik's immortal heart pounding in his hypersensitive ears. "You're not a cruel man, are you, Erik…?" Raoul asked with a slight smirk—his grin widening, when the vampire growled. "Temper, temper… Mon Amor; neither cruel, nor cross men get to go to bed with me."

"You speak as if you've taken many men to bed." The Phantom's glare hardened like stone, and without even trying to notice it, Raoul could discern that something about Erik's general aura had changed; from furious and brooding, to—well, furious and possessive.

Of course, the Vicomte knew the ghost was preparing to pounce on and ravish him—the blonde had; after all, promised to let Erik take him however he pleased, if the immortal atleast tried to play the Stradivarius… and, yes, he had tried; he was horrible, but he tried—so he wasn't taken aback in the slightest when Erik's eyes twinkled amber; (like they usually did when he attempted to glamour someone) what shocked him was that, for the moment, the vampire actually believed that he had bedded—or been bedded by—other persons of the male persuasion.

Vampires were such possessive creatures, of course; but, Erik seemed to be within a league of his own, with the frightening level of his selfness.

Raoul turned the idea of stringing Erik along in his head, but ultimately decided it against it. If the vampire thought for sure that Raoul had been with others; he would definitely stake his claim on the blonde like only a vampire can. Erik would bite him and take him roughly, until he bled.

Not looking forward to the idea of perishing at the hands of his lover, and over something as trivial as a lie, no less; Raoul stilled his hands, and moved to put his violin back in its case. "Don't get fussy; you know full-well what I meant." Turning to look at Erik, he frowned when the older man had yet to relax—or even attempt to do so. Sighing, the blonde cocked his hip to the side, and flicked a stray strand of golden hair from his eyes. "Even if the thought to visit the bed of someone else had crossed my mind, I would be foolish to act upon that impulse."

Sauntering over to Erik, Raoul wasted no time dawdling, dropping to his knees, the blonde looked up to meet his lover's burning gaze. "No one could compare to you, Mon Amour." He whispered alluringly, before leaning up and kissing the corners of the vampire's frown. "Not to your temper," a kiss was placed upon Erik's temple, "Not to your music," another to his tense jaw-line, "Not to your strength or stamina." A few to his neck and shirt-clad shoulder, "Nothing…" And, when Erik least expected it, Raoul untied the strings on his chemise and lay the finally kiss upon his strong pectoral—right over his heart was rumored to lay. "Je t'aime…"

Erik's breath hitched unnecessarily, as Raoul slid his blouse off his shoulders and peppered soft-lipped kisses all over his abdomen, before going lower and lower; growing bolder and flicking his tongue out here and there, between each loving caress of his lips.

The vampire growled, when the Vicomte tongued the somewhat warm skin that lay hidden beneath the waistband of his trousers. "Raoul…" Erik warned, his hands threading themselves in his lover's flaxen tresses before tightening to the point of almost being painful.

Nodding slightly, more to himself than Erik, Raoul went on to unsheathe his lover's hardened member. "Je t'aime, Erik…" He repeated softly, before taking the vampire's heated flesh fully into his mouth.


End file.
